The Devil and Me
by Son Of Evil
Summary: A young man is on friendly, even affectionate terms with the Devil. Self harm in second chapter, suicidal thoughts. Might up rating to M
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is the second time I've posted this story. I do not premote Devil-Worship. Nor do I oppose it. Someones faith is their choice. Do not look for my oppinion in this story. I might believe this, I might not. This is a story, a work of fiction. Please honour my right to freedom of speech.

I was brooding, which I hate. Granted, I've a lot to brood about, especially now after that fucking bitch broke me. Ripped my heart out and laughed at me as I cried my eyes out. Agh, I should just use whores. Harder to fall in love with. Fucking bitch. And speaking of bitches, here comes the Queen of Bitches. "Satan," I greeted. She gave me a big smile.

"Hey. How's life?"

"Shit."

"Yeah, I get that." She sat down beside me. "Just been playing with Hitler. He screams like a girl, honestly!"

I took out a cigarette and lit up. "So Hitler's in Hell huh?"

"Well what did you expect; that he'd be in Heaven rounding up the angels' to slaughter Jesus, King of the Jews?"

"More the fact that you're saying it like it's so obvious. I mean, it is obvious, but...Hitler evil. Just thinking about it." Satan raised her eyebrow. "What? Man was an evil bastard that deserves to be in Hell right now, I believe that."

"So…"

"Just wondering what it'd be like to go into an evil person's head. What does evil feel like? Hitler for example. Like I said, he was an evil bastard that's were he belongs. But did he think he was evil? What he did, he did for the good of Germany. Lot of Nazi's think God was with them. My point is, did Hitler think he was evil? If I went inside his head, would he feel evil? Would it feel good or bad, if the evil person didn't think they were evil? If Hitler believed he was right, would his soul feel pure just because he thinks so? Slaughtered millions without remorse. Would going into the head of someone who murderd another human being, who cried himself to sleep every night out of guilt, feel worse because he believed he was evil and Hitler believed he was right?"

Satan stretched like a cat, massive tits straining towards me. She's been doing that ever since I hit puberty and she became a she. "I always find the few who believe themselves evil feel more evil. When Hitler first came to us, he felt as pure as the virgin snow. Stupid cunt started sprouting all this shit, I swear you wouldn't believe your ears. He did think he belonged in Heaven though."

I lay down and looked at the stars. Satan lay down as well and snuggled up against me. I wrapped my arm around her, keeping her close. "Beautiful night," I commented.

Satan sighed and pressed her body more firmly against me. "You're miserable, it's coming off you in waves. Get over the bitch."

"I'm in love with her."

"She's trash. Fuck her." Suddenly she pulled away from me and sat up. I glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. She gave a mysterious smile. "Let me make you feel better." She unzipped my jeans and reached her hand inside. I grabbed her wrist.

"Don't."

"Do you want me to be her?" Suddenly Rachel was standing before me. "Don't. Don't be her."

"But you want her," Satan whispered. She relaxed her body on top of mine, and moved her head to the side, flicking my ear with her tongue.

"Were you Jesus?" I asked. Satan stopped what she was doing and sat up, straddling me. Then she threw she head back and laughed. "Well, there's something I never thought I'd hear. Come on, I've got to hear this."

"Don't be her." Satan immediately changed back into the black-haired, blue-eyed walking wet dream.

"Now spill."

"Just thinking. The commandments and stuff that God Himself said kind of goes against theNew Testament. Like, it's a sin to worship anyone but God, right? Then 2000 years ago some bloke comes along saying He's the Son of God. Now not only to people worship God, they also worship Jesus. God and Jesus, not just God. Goes against what the big man said. And that old saying, an eye for an eye and what not. Again, that's in the Old Testament. Then Jesus is like, 'turn the other cheek'. I could go on, but no point really. You probably know it better than me. Besides, you're the Father of Lies. Be a smart move, if you could pull it off. And on one could pull it off better than you."

Satan threw back her head and laughed. "I swear, you always surprise me. Honestly! Me, Lucifer, Son of God."

"So you're not?"

"I didn't say that."

"So?" I questioned. Satan just smiled and pushed her lips onto mine, shoving her tongue down my throat. After she'd finished I repeated my question.

"I'm not telling." I rolled my eyes, but I knew better than to argue. When the Prince of Darkness doesn't want you to know something, you don't know it. "Anyway, Jesus is a hypocrite. Everyone's like, 'oh, he died for us, he suffered for us, he felt like we felt,' blah blah blah. Jesus never knew suffering like Man does. He knew He was going to Heaven, he knew He'd sit by God's right hand, he fucking knew everything. Humans don't have that gift. Humans don't know they can come back to life three days later, they don't know without doubt that it's all worth it. Jesus could neversuffer like humans do, because Jesus always knew that when alls said and done He'd live happily ever after."

Trufully, I completely agreed. Jesus knew He was the Son of God. No matter what anyone says, that knowledge made sure He didn't know our pain. Satan's right. But I still wondered if they were the same person.

"Do you trust in God?" She suddenly asked me.

"No."

"Do you trust in me?"

"More than God."

"Yes, I know, but do you trust in me? Truly?"

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"I was always there for you. You cried and begged and screamed at God to help you, but he never did. You've been through a Hell that only a handful of people in history know. All the rapes, all the beatings. You've been cut up, set on fire, broken, stoned, tortured every day. How many three-year-olds are taught how to bring their father to orgasm? How may five-year-olds have a death wish because they believe that's the only way to make the pain stop? How many six-year-olds have every inch of their skin black, yellow, purple, blue, red, not one millimetre unmarked? How many seven-year-olds know the feeling of blades cutting through their flesh? How many eight-year-olds know what it feels like to be set on fire? How many people your age can look back at there childhood and not be able to find one, just one, happy memory?"

I didn't say anything. What was there to say? People would tell me that Satan was only pretending to be my friend, but she'd never once said she was. I asked her once, before she'd took this form, but all I got was a smile. Again, she asked me the question in a whisper. "Do you trust in me?"

"I trust in you in life," I replied.

"And in death?"

"You'll probably have me burning with the others."

"Maybe, but if I do I'll stop it every now and then for a little chat. I actually enjoy talking to you."

"Thanks."

"No problem. But then again, rather than have you just burning, why not use you? Fuck, that lad, what was his name? James, that's it. Christian born and bred, and you made him a Pagan."

"Never did that love. He asked me about it, I told him what I knew. Never once tried to convert him, all I did was answer his questions."

"And supply him with reading material, contact numbers…"

"He asked, I gave. I didn't make him a Pagan, he chose that. Me, I don't worship, or place my faith in anything."

"Says the man that read the whole Bible when he was twelve," she teased.

"Shut me."

"Make me."

I glared at her. "You know, there's evil, and there's just plain irritating."

She laughed again. "Come on, let's fuck. You'll feel better."

"I don't think so. Knowing you, you'll get pregnant just to annoy me."

"Oh come on. Fathering a child to the Devil? Being a dad to a Hell spawn? You'd love it." I had to admit I did like the idea. "Anyway, I only have a child when I choose to."

"Like I said, you'd probably do it to annoy me."

"Oh come on, you've never turned down a fucking when a girl's given you the chance."

"First off, you're not a girl. You're the Devil. That body's just a something you've made up. Second, I've never been in love before. All I want is her."

Satan groaned. "Oh, get over it. She's scum. She tricked you. She gloatingly told you in detail how everything was a joke. Every hug, every kiss, every time you touched each other. Fake. When she told you you could trust her; a lie. When she told you she cared; a lie. When she told you she loved you; a lie. You know this. Your legs gave out under you, you fell to the floor sobbing, and she laughed! Move on!"

"I'm in love with her."

"You're in love with a lie."

"I know."

"So get over it."

"I can't. God, it feels like I'm dying. When she said those things…it hurt so bad, like I was being crucified." I suddenly had a memory of me and her. We were in my room, on my bed. And God had we had fun! I felt so happy then. She was asleep, wrapped in my arms. I was gently stroking my thumb across her cheek, just looking at her. This as better than anything sexual we had ever done. "A demon in flawless cruel beauty," I whispered.

Satan rolled her eyes. "Spontaneous poetry. Man, you've got it bad. Not you're best thought."

"She thought I told her poetry once. I wasn't even in love with her at the time, not as much anyway. She asked me to tell her exactly what I thought about her, and I didn't even think, I just said what was in my heart. When I'd finished she actually said to me 'Are you telling me poetry?'."

"Yeah, very romantic. Of course, she hates poetry."

I look at her in surprise. She smirked and tapped her head. "I see everything in this world."

"Yeah, you've told me. Just still a bit surprising every now and then."

She leaned over and pressed her lips to mine. It wasn't an act of passion, just affection. "I do love you." And then she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

I lay in bed smoking, using an empty can of coke as an ash tray. I couldn't get Rachel out of my mind. My emotions ate away at me like an acid. She was like a drug, a sweet poison that was slowly killing me. All the nasty little things we'd done…why is this happening to me? It's been over a week and the pain hasn't stopped. Would it ever stop? I wish I was dead. I dropped the fag into the can and made my way to the bathroom. I turned the taps on and listened to the rush of water and the gurgling of the drain. I took out a razor and broke it up, then gently took out the blades. I didn't bite my lip. I didn't grit my teeth. I just cut. The blood, think and foul, poured into the sink. The water became pink. I cut again, drawing the blade over my arm. I couldn't help a quiet hiss of pain. Burning, sweet. Let it out. I watched the blood run. My pain, flowing out of me. The blood of life is sickly sweet. A mother's milk. Blood is the milk of life. Keeps us going. Keeps us warm. Keeps us fresh. Keeps us alive. Over time the cut will close, trapping my pain inside again, letting it slowly built until I cut again and let it out. Blood is life. Life is pain. Let it out. Let it out before I go mad. The pain of my arm is nothing to the pain in my soul. The pain of the razor, I don't even know if you can call it pain. It hurts, but it feels good. A sweet pain. Like her. Rachel. My sweet poison.

I leaned against the sink and let the blood flow, and for a moment I forgot the pain inside. Burning nerves, sliced open. This was good. This was sweet. Let the blood flow. Let it all out. The blood is life. Let me die. Let me burn, and see my sweet Devil dancing and laughing. Satan. If I die now, will you be waiting for me? My wicked friend. Would you open your arms and hold me to your breasts and kiss me as you take me into Hell, like you held me and kissed me and stroked my hair and comforted me as I cried all those years ago when I was a little boy? I was seven when you first came to me. I thought I was evil. Bad boy. Horrible, wicked child. Take the beatings. Take the fire. Take it all. You deserve it. You bring it all on yourself. It's your fault. The mirror smashed as my fist struck it. I yanked a shard out, and held it to my throat. Slit my throat. Let me die. Let me burn. Nothing but pain. I've been on fire, felt the flames licking my flesh. There are worse things than burning. Worse things than never ending pain. Because when you're so happy you could weep, it hurts so badly when it's ripped away. Let me burn. Suicide. I pressed the shard against my neck. Do it do it do it do it do it do I do it do it! What about my mother? If I killed myself, would mum be able to cope? Get over it? Would she blame herself? What would it do to her? The shard dropped out of my hand.

I want it all to end. I want to stop dreaming of her. I want to stop dreaming. Dreamless sleep. A temporary death. I want to die. Just fade away into oblivion. I don't want to love her anymore. I just want it to stop. Please. Please make it stop. Why isn't it stopping? The blood is flowing. It shouldn't hurt again so soon. Is this Hell? Am I at this moment one of the countless damned? Please make it stop. I picked up the shard and dug it in as hard as I could. Slice. Rip. Tear. Let it all out. I felt woozy. I'm dying. Oh God, I'm dying. I staggered and fell to the floor. My vision was fuzzy. I'm dying. I knew I was dying. All I felt was relief. I'm dying. I smiled.


End file.
